


In The Night

by red_flag



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aggression, Assassin Lexa, Blood and Injury, F/F, Killer Clarke Griffin, Mental Instability, Physical Abuse, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Smut, Solidarity among killers?, Violence, murder stuff, trigger warning?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_flag/pseuds/red_flag
Summary: Clarke tried one last time to offer her a cup of coffee - even tea - because she hadn’t had enough time to get to know this woman. Clarke wanted to know; why she was a hitwoman, how she became one, why she had followed Clarke. A part of her mind - a part that always kept a list of whatever doctors had ever said about her… condition - well, a part of her brain wondered if Clarke formed a new obsession with this odd woman - a new question her mind needed to answer, explore, understand.Her old doctors would have nervously laughed. So many of them and so few medical conclusions of what was wrong with her. Some of them had even used the overused term psychopathy and Clarke had bit back a snort. Paranoia was also a common one but - not quite right even then. Clarke wasn’t paranoid, she was just… obsessed.And this woman.Who was this woman who held forests in her eyes and darkness in her soul?“Come upstairs”, she tried again.The woman shook her head.“What’s your name?”Green eyes looked at her with amusement, an eyebrow lifted mockingly.“Not a word to anyone, Clarke. Got it?”
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 12
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There must be some pcychiatric medical term to describe Clarke's condition but well I didn't really look into it. I just pictured her overly emotionless in normal situations and getting mentally stuck to some things. Also I wouldn't really call her a serial killer as she doesn't have the pattern and stuff. I don't know what this fic is, excuse it.

The night was thick; its darkness was a void. Here and there, the few lambs didn’t do much, their unnatural light mapping out the streets and the shapes of the buildings, it strengthened the shadows in the narrow mouths of the alleys, the sharp corners of the walls. There was the city of the day and the city of the night and Clarke knew the last like the back of her hand.

The people working at night but living in the day didn’t stand a chance.

They were always much, much slower in the late hours.

Clarke crouched in front of the body on the floor and she knew the gun’s sound had alarmed the neighborhood, who had alarmed the police, who had gathered up their gear and drove here –to her latest kill shot. She probably had a few moments before needing to slip away in the shadows of the night.

The case would be dropped in a drawer or in a box anyway.

Still, she took a second. Taking in a sigh, Clarke crouched and watched the man’s dull eyes, the lack of light in them as the shadow of death took over them. She treasured this moment; this holiness of watching the transition from one state to another. She wondered if death was a better state to experience. Clarke wondered but she wasn’t ready to find out just yet.

As the faint sound of sirens reached her ears, Clarke exhaled gently, reaching out to the body, the cooling warmness of it sipping through her leather glove. Her knuckles caressed the man’s round, unshaved jawline, very slowly turning his head to the side and back so his dead eyes looked up in the void darkness of the sky above them.

She walked away as the police cars rounded the corner and got into the block.

* * *

Her apartment wasn’t impressive but it had heat and water and mice actually stayed out of it, unlike her previous apartments. The owner was humble, polite, let her off a couple of times of being late with paying rent. The apartment building was filled with people rotting away in the country of opportunities, where people would gladly eat one another if they could.

Clarke dropped on her couch an hour after watching the sunrise.

Sleep came right away, embracing her aching body and dragging her away.

* * *

The knock on the door wasn’t something she expected.

Clarke slowly opened her eyes, staring at the wooden door on the other side of the living room, staring at it for some long silent moments before another knock – _faster, sharper_ – sounded through the cold stillness of the apartment. Miserably sighing, the blonde took her eyes off of the door to stare at the mess of paper cups, paper plates and boxes of takeout on the table next to her, at the tiny hills of ash in her ashtrays.

The knocks were different now; fast, jerky, less confident. She frowned, sitting up a bit when her owner’s voice drifted through the door. “ _Griffin, are you inside? Police is here_ ”.

She stood, walked to the door and opened it to find a way too beautiful woman in front of her, next to Atom and his nervous pale face. He glared at her and Clarke let her body slack against the door, finding the woman much more interesting than him.

“What can I do for you, officer?” she asked, her voice tied with the physical effects of sleep. She tried to clear her throat, feeling like she gulped down a mouthful of sand.

If she was any other person, she would probably feel nervous or worried or… she did not really know, she did not really feel anything at the sight of the woman in front of her or the woman’s job.

“Detective Woods”, she corrected her, her voice too awake and steady for this hour. Clarke glanced at her budge and her dark blue suit and the gun strapped to her right side under her jacket. She didn’t wear a uniform and so Clarke nodded, accepted the title.

“What can I do for you?” Clarke asked again and the woman eyed Atom hovering near them. He took the hint and tripped away in the hall and then down the stairs.

“Miss Griffin, do you know of someone called Finn Collins?”

It took her a moment to connect it to a face and her mood soured at the name. Huh, look at that –ghosts were coming to her after so long. “I used to. What did he do?”

“Nothing too concerning or out of his ordinary behavior, other than an assault of an officer, running away last night”.

 _Busy hours for all of them last night_ , Clarke thought, leaning her head on the door. It took her a moment to remember Finn; she was left and had left these people behind a long time ago. A life of white rooms and constant pointless appointments to many doctors that did not know how to explain behaviors and impulses such as her own; people called friends and relatives not able to handle her unresponsive gaze, her wild mind, her curious thoughts. It had been a relief when she had left it all behind.

“I haven’t talked to Finn in a couple of years, detective. He is certainly not here”.

She had moved from her hometown after _finally_ being able to answer the doctors' questions properly. Her mother hadn't visited during Clarke's four months in the asylum. Her so called friends hadn't contacted her in the last year; too busy with school and relationships with other normal complicated people and parents; things Clarke's mind simply couldn't follow and so the blonde had guessed she needed a start elsewhere.

It really was the country of opportunities.

“I see. Well, if something turns up, please, give us a call”.

Clarke took the card and read the name. Clarke didn’t have a phone to call them but she doubted she ever would. “Sure thing, detective, have a good day”.

The woman nodded and walked away without a second look back. Clarke wanted her to look back; Detective Anya Woods had tortured dull brown eyes filled with tamed darkness.

* * *

She stood outside the nightclub with a cigarette between her fingers and thin smoke heating her mouth and lungs. People walked in and out, wrapped up in the scents of alcohol and sweat and for a moment, Clarke thought of walking away to find another place to wait for someone to catch her eye; someone other than these shallow and meaninglessly happy souls and their buzzing bodies. Their hollow emotions made her want to slide back in the shadows and the quiet of the alleys and lose herself there.

A shiny car came to a sudden stop in front of the entrance. Clarke took a drag of her cigarette as she watched a woman step out of it, carefully place makeup on her face, straightened hair falling down her back like a waterfall of black water, her light grey dress flying behind her, the furs on her shoulders making the dark color of her hair stand out even more. Clarke watched her walk to the entrance with a group of equally elegant friends following her.

Elegant but just as shallow as the rest of the people around them.

Bored, Clarke looked away from them.

Her sharp blue eyes caught the barrel of a snipper rifle in one of the dark windows of the building across the street. Clarke was away from the wall and having crossed the half distance to the building when the muffled gunshot echoed, a second before the screaming.

Clarke didn’t need to turn to know that the woman in white was laying dead on the entrance of the night club with a bullet hole in her brain.

* * *

They were always much slower in the night –so much more predictable. If she was someone else, Clarke would have climbed the stairs of the fire escape to meet this interesting hitman halfway. But truth was that, even if she was used to the running, the ducking underneath fallen pipes, jumping over fallen trach cans, Clarke did not like moving more than necessary. Thus, she waited in the bottom of the building’s back door, which led to a dark alley, which led to the neighbor building’s garage, to the busy street, to the subway. This hitman was good; had thought of the convenient escape plan but… well… it was predictable.

Light footsteps echoed on the metal of the fire escape and Clarke leaned on the wall across the metallic stairs, watching a dark figure climb down. Black long coat, boots, a pair of tight dark blue jeans and a red long scarf around the _woman’s_ long neck. It was a surprise. A hitwoman, Clarke thought in awe as she watched her pull her hair from a ponytail at the back of her head, a simple suitcase in her hold, which surely held her sniper rifle.

The ease with which this woman moved after having murdered someone was a _huge_ damn surprise for Clarke and she was left standing motionlessly at her moving in the darkness of the night.

The hitwoman spotted Clarke a lot later than she should have but still impressively fast compared to the rest of her fellow citizens.

Clarke found herself looking the barrel of a gun.

So many surprises tonight…

“Well”, Clarke heard her voice saying hoarsely, “that is a way to say hello”.

Long fingers tightened around the weapon. “What the fuck are you waiting here?”

“You”.

“Me?”

“I saw you take the shot”.

The woman’s beautiful face hardened into something unforgiving, impassive. “I see”.

Clarke shrugged, leaned back on the wall, watching the hitwoman’s face rather than her gun. She couldn’t be much older than Clarke but she seemed just as capable with pulling the trigger. Looking into her eyes, Clarke guessed she would actually do it and the fact she was waiting for something was also very interesting.

The blonde slowly hesitated; the woman’s darkened eyes were hard and intelligent but they were also dull and empty from emotion; they were as dead as the eyes of the people Clarke would leave behind in cold alleys and in the side of the roads. She didn’t have to kill her to see the vast space of a human’s soul in them and Clarke felt her breath catch at her throat at the realization.

“You understand I have to put you down now, right?” the hitwoman slowly said, her eyes unchanging and unforgiving and so very captivating.

Clarke could not answer; too lost in her head to do so, too focused on trying to find any kind of shift in the woman’s unmoving gaze. She wondered how it’d feel like to take a photo of her eyes. She wondered if the hitwoman would let her.

“Hey!” the woman snarled suddenly and there was frustration in her eyes and anger and the beautiful void was gone, _gone_ , the sight bringing Clarke back in reality. There were police sirens echoing in the blocks and Clarke could see the time ticking away in the woman’s head. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

A couple of things; Clarke’s brain was never very normal –there were medical terms and everything. _Perfectly functioning_ , one of her old doctors had said to her mother, _just incapable of recognizing and acting based on social ethics_. Clarke had liked that doctor; he hadn’t used the term _personality disorder_ more than once in their shared time in the hospital.

The hitwoman seemed angrier with herself rather than Clarke though.

Police cars were gathering in the front of the building they stood behind, the number of officer’s doubling up with each passing second.

“You should go”, Clarke said to her quietly, watching her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Take the turn to the left rather than going to the subway. They will check it pretty quick. There is a Taxi Stop in the end of the block”.

“Why should I listen to you?”

Clarke frowned at the words. _It was a logical plan, right_? _Was her voice going wrong again_? No, Clarke spoke alright, spoke slow and clear and…

Oh, the social thing. _Damn, Clarke, focus_.

The woman didn’t trust her.

Clarke nodded to herself, pushed a hand into her blonde hair, pulling the short locks back. Clarke very quietly said, “I’m like you”.

A lie; this woman seemed like the example of what her doctors would call sane. Not quite right because she killed people for… for something meaningful to her… but she didn’t seem insane or something or…

In another life, Clarke would be a doctor, she decided then.

In a life more meaningful than this one at least, where anthropology would top this wonder that space was.

“Honor among thieves or something, right”, Clarke continued and she hoped the line worked. The hitwoman’s eyebrows frowned together and her dark eyes were flat. It made Clarke’s shoulders drop with disappointment.

But suddenly - _suddenly_ \- the woman was there in front of Clarke and the barrel of the gun was pressing into Clarke’s stomach to the point of causing bothersome pressure, making her blink in surprise and sudden frustration. The woman was too close to her and so very warm; an inch taller; a lot more muscular than her. And her eyes were so close -the window to the soul- someone had told her that line a long time ago; Clarke was forgetting his name more and more often.

The woman was close and Clarke did not miss the opportunity to look up in her eyes, her mind losing itself in green. There were gold and light brown spots in it and Clarke could not help but think of a jungle being sucked up by the black hole in the middle.

No, no, this wasn’t right.

“If I find any hint that you gave me up, I will find you”.

The forest.

“Do you understand me?”

Yes.

She had eyes like the forest.

Ah, a forest so very steady in the fragile surface; the ground; the planet they stood on; all of them spinning and spinning and spinning and floating so slowly in empty airless space; full empty space -a galaxy- that Clarke was sure lived inside every one of its -god’s?- creations.

Her mind was spinning out again, tiring her too much and the woman wasn’t in front of her anymore, swallowed in the darkness of the city’s hidden and secrete passages -like a ghost; a soul floating away from its physical form.

Clarke wanted to meet her again.

* * *

The blonde paced in the roof of the building, feeling her lungs burn with each acidic inhale of air, her legs trembling violently underneath her body. Clarke didn’t have to climb up to the roof on foot, there was a working elevator inside the building but her head was so loud and her thoughts disorganized and she needed to tire herself out, to quiet the screaming words.

Killing tonight hadn’t been… hadn’t been _right_ and she couldn’t understand. The pair of eyes took too long to lose their light, the petrified look had been frozen in them in the long moments after and Clarke could not see - _find_ \- the sight she wished to see in them.

Her knee finally bent under her weight, her exhausted legs shaking and Clarke slowly lowered on the ground, her eyes turning up; her gaze was sucked up in the blackness of the void above her, around her. Clarke wished for the city lights to turn off, to let the stars being showed.

The red blood was drying on her skin now and her eyes were aching after staring at the abyss of the universe above her. Her throat was dry because of the air going and coming out of her parted lips. The man hadn’t died quiet and peaceful, she’d chosen her very old hunting knife tonight, considering the cops crawling the city ever since Ontari’s assassination. He had trashed and coughed wet wheezes of blood and he’d collapsed on trashcans and metallic pipes. The shock had stayed in his eyes after he stopped breathing.

Running her hands down her face, Clarke closed her eyes and curled up on the wide corner of the roof’s protecting short wall, letting the cold night air bite at her skin, at her hands, at her head. She could feel a throbbing starting appear in the sides of her head, the thoughts racing all too fast for her to understand them properly. And the night sky above her didn’t offer any comfort, didn’t let her see its stars.

A moonless night and a pointless murder, which had left her aching for more.

She should have stayed home.

* * *

When Clarke finally climbed down from the roof, the twilight painted the sky grey and the sun would appear from the horizon with its soft annoying light in a few moments. Clarke would be able to get home before that, wipe the blood off of her and fall onto her bed to sleep off this heavy weight which had settled on her chest. She didn’t expect to find a figure waiting for something in the last step of the fire escape, the woman’s fingers mindlessly caressing a plastic bottle of water.

“Your kill was messy. You are nothing like me”.

Clarke hummed and slowly took the last couple of steps down, making the woman’s green eyes snap up to look at her coming nearer. She tensed up and Clarke eyed her with a lifted eyebrow before taking a seat on the step next to her. Her sharp jawline clenched impossibly hard and Clarke wanted to reach up and _press_ on it, to make it loosen up.

She didn’t.

“How did you find me?”

“I have my ways”.

Clarke hummed, too tired to have a conversation. A content feeling spread through her as they sat there in a heavy silence, but unlike her, the hitwoman kept shifting in her seat. It frustrated her.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you my name”.

“I am Clarke”.

“I know who you are”.

She hummed again.

“There is an ad about you. You’re a missing person”.

“Ah, it is a couple of years old though, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Your mom doesn’t know you are alive?”

“She left first. Then I left as well. She put on the ad. I didn’t understand why”.

“Why didn’t you reach out? She has money and you… well”.

Clarke shrugged. “I can provide to myself”.

“Can you?”

“When I need to, yes”.

“I see”.

“You know a lot”.

It was the woman’s time to hum.

“You know anything about space?”

“Space?”

“Yes”.

“Why would I?”

“It is interesting”.

“Is that what you were doing up there? Stargazing?”

“You cannot see the stars in the city”.

The woman paused at the mournful tone. “Why did you kill that man?”

Clarke shrugged, shuddered because of the cold. “I wanted to see”.

“See what?”

“The universe inside him”.

* * *

Apparently, the hitwoman found her after a job. She wore a long black coat and she carried a duffle back on her shoulder and she was wrapped in the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder. Clarke offered her a hot bath and a cup of even hotter coffee in her apartment and the other woman had seemed surprised before she declined politely, awkwardly.

But for some reason, the hitwoman still walked Clarke to her apartment building, her body moving in the shadows almost as good as Clarke’s. She obviously knew the city by night, knew the trails off of cameras and off of people and busy night workers. An unexpected but welcome relief to find someone just as used to the dark.

Clarke tried one last time to offer her a cup of coffee - even tea - because she hadn’t had enough time to get to know this woman. Clarke wanted to know; why she was a hitwoman, how she became one, why she had followed Clarke. A part of her mind - a part that always kept a list of whatever doctors had ever said about her… condition - well, a part of her brain wondered if Clarke formed a new obsession with this odd woman - a new question her mind needed to answer, explore, understand.

Her old doctors would have nervously laughed. So many of them and so few medical conclusions of what was wrong with her. Some of them had even used the overused term _psychopathy_ and Clarke had bit back a snort. _Paranoia_ was also a common one but - not quite right even then. Clarke wasn’t paranoid, she was just… obsessed.

 _Obsession_ ; she wasn’t a doctor, hell, she had no idea of psychology but the word had stuck with her for a while and she had kind of embraced it in the next years of being in and out of various psychiatric hospitals. _Obsession with space_ , she’d settled in the end. And it felt right.

Had she not seen the man die in front of her eyes, she would have been harmless to society. But the sight in front of her, the sight of him being shot down after aiming a gun at an unarmed police officer - it had triggered something in her mind. While the people around her had screamed in terrors at the exchange of lethal bullets in front of them, Clarke had been frozen on the steady ground - watching the man drop like dead weight, watching his dark grey eyes flickering with pain and anger and surprise, watching the orbs weakening, being unable to move more and just settling to staring ahead at… nothing.

It had been the first time Clarke had thought of how the universe lived inside every human in this small planet. The universe wasn’t just out there - it was also inside, it was the soul. Clarke was sure of it.

She had sat at a bench in front of the street for many hours that day.

Her brain had stopped then –hadn’t been able to move past this for the last years. She had thrown away the books about the stars and planets, which always left her with frustration deep in her gut because she couldn’t… they had never been enough for some reason she couldn’t think of.

And this woman.

This woman.

Who was this woman who held forests in her eyes and darkness in her soul?

“Come upstairs”, she tried again.

The woman shook her head.

“What’s your name?”

Green eyes looked at her with amusement, an eyebrow lifted mockingly.

“Not a word to anyone, Clarke. Got it?”

The blonde shrugged, watching her go.

She wanted a cigarette and a burger with fries and maybe a cold beer.

* * *

The hitwoman had tapped at the glass of her window, where she leaned heavily, the rusted metal of the fire escape cricking under her feet and its dark colour being painted by blood falling on it. Clarke had frowned from her place on the couch, standing and opening the window for her, watching the brunette fall inside the apartment and spilling red blood on the tiles of Clarke’s floor.

She was currently pressed in the bathtub, groaning under her breath as she patched herself up, a needle in her long fingers. Clarke was leaning on the doorframe next to her, scowling at the mess.

“Care to help?”

“No”.

“Nice”.

“You made a mess”.

“Well, excuse me for…”

Clarke rolled her eyes and walked away, not wanting to hear anything else. She got into the kitchen and found some food in the fridge, dropping it in a bowl and into the microwave to heat up. However, she kept an ear on the bathroom.

“Tell me your name”, Clarke asked again when the brunette _finally_ managed to drag herself out of the bathroom, her skin too pale, her limps too weak and shaky.

“I’m not telling you my…”

“Fuck you”.

The hitwoman glared, her breath catching in her throat as she lowered on the couch with a grunt. She only wore her bra and jeans, both of them soaked in dry blood and sweat and Clarke really hoped she didn’t spread any on the couch as well. There was a clean white gauze just above her left hip, the skin around cleaned off of blood with Clarke’s undrinkable alcohol.

“I’m Lexa”, the woman relented, groaning out the name as if it wasn’t a big deal.

Clarke tasted it on her tongue, feeling the muscle move as she mouthed it to herself. It was nice. Not something she had heard before. Most people shortened their name at _Alex_ but _Lexa_ sounded different –more grounded, more composed, not that sharp or direct. There was a hidden threat in the two syllables and Clarke was pleased by it.

“What got you clipped?”

“My target had a bodyguard”.

“Dead?”

“What do you think?” It was an honest question, not holding a hint of sarcasm like the phrase usually did.

“Yeah, they are both dead”.

Lexa smiled softly, exhausted. “Can I stay the night?” she asked –direct and looking Clarke in the eye. It made Clarke shift on her seat slowly.

“Sure”, the blonde nodded and heard the microwave beeping softly to let her now the food was ready. It took a few steps to it and back and Lexa had visibly slacked further down the couch. “Eat up”.

“It is fine”, Lexa said but her hands were already reaching out for the bowl. She lifted an eyebrow. “Yesterday’s take out?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Take it or leave it, Lexa”.

The woman smirked and dug in the pasta with her fork, the two of them settling in a comfortable silence. Lexa passed out on the couch first and when Clarke felt her own eyes start to drop with sleep, she rose on tired feet and patted to her bed, falling on it with a heavy sigh.

* * *

If they were normal people, there would have been awkward tension between them.

* * *

If they were normal people, there would have been a moment of hesitation.

* * *

Clarke woke up to find Lexa long gone and the bowl washed and put away. A small note with a phone number was left in the coffee table.

Clarke didn't have a phone but she still smiled down at it

The blood was wiped off the tiles and bathtub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> they get angry at one another and there is a punch and some murderous thoughts and then they fuck so yeah. They are not mentally okay.
> 
> And there is also some porn in here kids. Do not ask me how or why, it just happened.

Clarke… Clarke didn’t like mornings. She didn’t hate them but she couldn’t stand the rushing movements, the vehicle’s loud horns and the constant jerking mumble of so many voices. Interacting with people felt the worse; the way Clarke was forced to co-exist with their useless needs and careless ambitions and their annoying rumpus of wasteful talking. They talked so damn much when the sun was out.

The poetic sense of being a stranger in a mass of strangers wasn’t enough for her.

Apparently, the case didn’t apply to Lexa.

The hitwoman sat in front of her laptop in the crowded café, seemingly with no care in the world, a paper cup of coffee carefully placed next to her computer, her phone perfectly lined up next to it. The cup’s plastic cover was taken off and resting behind the cup, a layer of light brown foam peacefully drying on it. Unlike Clarke, Lexa was surrounded in an unnaturally organized aura.

“You look like you could use a coffee”.

Clarke slacked further down the chair, feeling a headache already throbbing behind her eyes. The hitwoman in front of her seemed put together with her straightened long brunette hair and her eyeliner and her crossed legs. Out of curiosity, Clarke let her head tilt to the side to take in the woman’s outfit, her eyes roaming the image in front of her; impressively high heels, beige long loose pants, a dark grey vest over a white bottom up shirt. A suit jacket hung on the back of Lexa’s chair, the laptop’s bag resting on the bottom of its legs.

“I don’t drink coffee”, Clarke heard her rough voice saying and she heavily blinked, her thoughts fighting to gather back in the center of her brain.

“Did you just wake up?”

“Yes”.

An amused smile picked up the left side of Lexa’s lips. “I didn’t expect you to come”.

“Neither did I”, Clarke mumbled, frowning as a couple burst out laughing. Everything was too loud here and Clarke wished to return to her couch and forget this last hour even happened. “Why so early?”

She had expected Lexa to be like her; liking the night more.

“I have a job later”, the other woman distractingly licked her lips, slowly lowering her laptop screen. Her hand lined up the mouse next to it with a shifting twist of her thin wrist. “And you agreed to meet me”.

Clarke hummed, leaning forward to pop her elbows on the round small table. Her eyes ached by the bright light and the sights of so many rapid movements. A part of her was utterly glad Lexa had chosen a small table far away from the wide windows looking at the sidewalk and the street, where a literal crowd was walking back and forth.

“You called”, Lexa leaned back on her chair and watched her flinch at the sounds.

“Yes. From a payphone”.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a phone”.

“No, I mean, why did you call?”

“You left me your number”.

“Fair enough”.

Clarke gritted her teeth against the headache. “I don’t know why I called”.

“What did you think about when you did?”

“Your eyes”.

She missed the way Lexa’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. It was only a moment and then the woman’s face was back being unreadable, her hand wrapping around her cup of coffee and bringing it up to her mouth – taking a sip. Clarke lowered her hands to watch her more closely.

Lexa was back looking amused – annoyingly arrogant. “What about my eyes then?”

Clarke shrugged, turning her gaze on them, diving inside their color. She wanted to be closer but the room around them was tight already and she doubted she could move her chair without raising even more noise in the small shop and in the people around them.

“The way they lose focus”, Clarke mumbled, watching the green orbs do just that. It took just the right words and Lexa’s whole face and gaze slacked into something very interesting –it would make a normal person’s skin crawl with uneasiness. But Clarke was no normal person.

Clarke nodded at her, pleased; “Yes, this, this is very nice”.

“You think it’s nice?”

Lexa’s voice had also lost its direction. As she sat in front of Clarke, she seemed like she was a statue – a force that couldn’t be moved as much as the universe might try to. It wasn’t what people called normal; it wasn’t what people called _okay_. Just like Clarke, it seemed like something was also wrong with Lexa. A shudder passed down the blonde’s back at the sight of her unmoving eyes.

“My therapist wouldn’t agree”.

Lexa blinked once and she was back with Clarke, even if her face was still unnaturally relaxed – bare from emotion and thought – completely unaffected by the world.

“You have a therapist?”

The brunette hummed.

“Why?”

Lexa shrugged, her eyes hooded. “Long story”.

“Tell me”.

Lexa blinked again but this time; it was forced; it seemed as if a different part in the woman was fighting her to act in a complete different way. Frowning deeply, Clarke watched Lexa force a mask up over her face, a mask of arrogance and mockery and confidence. There was a side smirk, a cold flat look in her sharpened gaze, a light tilt of her head. Interesting, sinfully unsettling.

Instead of answering Clarke’s question right away, Lexa smirked and tapped her long fingers on the phone. “You have been in various asylums, haven’t you, Clarke?”

Clarke scowled. “I prefer the term psychiatric facilities”.

Lexa’s smirk deepened. “Why is that?”

“Asylum doesn’t do it justice. We didn’t wear straitjackets”.

“You weren’t a violent patient?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Do I seem like someone who would be one?”

The laugh bubbling out of Lexa had Clarke freezing. “Yes, you do, Clarke”.

Still frozen, Clarke stared at her motionless.

“I have had my fair share of _psychiatric facilities_ myself”, Lexa continued, her quiet voice barely reaching Clarke through the clattering noise of the people speaking. She wished they were on a rooftop with the moon being their only light source.

Clarke watched her.

She didn’t seem uncomfortable under the intense stare of the blue eyes.

“A _lot_ of therapists asking me a million questions”, the hitwoman kept going, green eyes darkening and losing their focus again as her mind travelled away in itself. Yet again, unlike Clarke, Lexa seemed to curl into the center of her being and freezing there, unaware of the world spinning around her. She was a constant – when every aspect of the universe around her was moving.

Clarke felt her lips part as she watched this woman trying to force herself move with it. She shuddered, feeling her own mind lose itself in thought, in emotion, in sounds, in the sense of the lacking gravity buzzing inside her brain and making Clarke rotate violently.

She shuddered again.

Lexa met her eyes.

They met somewhere in the middle.

* * *

“A sociopath”, Clarke mumbled to herself, laying on the dirty concrete and staring up at the pipes mapping out the ceiling. The floor was peacefully hard under her back, a base point, something steady her mind could focus on. She had an urge to reach out and try to wrap her fingers around… around nothing, around the air surrounding her.

She pressed her head back on her arms to keep them still, gritting her teeth.

Lexa rolled her eyes from her own place on the floor. “No”.

“That’s what you said”.

“I said _sociopathic tendencies_ ”.

Clarke shrugged. “I’ve never met a sociopath”.

“I am _not_ a _sociopath_ , Clarke”.

“Whatever”.

Lexa shook her head as she looked at her hands rolling the pieces of the rifle, putting it together mechanically, with the help of muscle memory. The assassin could almost hear Clarke’s watch ticking in the quiet of the constructing building’s floor. Staring at the weapon in her moving hands, Lexa wished for a knife –it was much less work and faster to pack up.

“Why aren’t you locked up?”

“I am not a threat to society”.

Clarke chuckled on the floor and Lexa felt her eyes shift on the woman next to her. It was a satisfying sight; the blonde woman was laying on the dirty floor – _calm, content in their shared quiet_ – with her arms relaxingly crossed under her head, legs crossed to the ankles. Clarke Griffin was wrapped up in the softness of the moonlight, so very eased - in and _by_ the thick shadows.

For a moment, Lexa thought of laying down next to her.

She turned her eyes on the sniper rifle.

“Seriously though”, Clarke continued and her blue eyes caressed the ceiling, making Lexa wonder what the hell was so fascinating about pipes and wires and concrete.

“What?”

“You are obviously a threat to society”.

“So are you”.

“I learnt to answer the questions”, she shrugged. “Took four months and then I was cleared and then I just disappeared in another state. They can only track me though the apartment but why would they? They cannot connect me to any of the killings”.

“Never say never, Clarke”, Lexa mumbled and felt attention shift on her.

“Why aren’t you caught?”

“I am better than anyone else”.

“That’s some ego”.

“It is the truth. My clients don’t call me commander for nothing”.

Clarke smirked and lowered her head back down on her arm, shaking the hand that had gotten numb. She let it rest on her belly and quietly listened to metal sliding on metal. It was quiet up here, the night air filtering through the holes in the concrete bare walls.

“When I was first diagnosed, I was not an assassin for hire, of course”, Lexa said and her voice slid through the peaceful quiet, becoming one with it, wrapping around it, coloring it. Clarke closed her eyes. Lexa continued. “I had an impressive job, I had my sister with me, a girl, some friends I guess, a supporting pleased boss; there was not any hint I would change”.

“What changed?”

Lexa smirked but her face slightly darkened. “I was fired; took too many _risks_ for the _company’s_ _future_. At least that’s what they told me”.

“So you went and started killing people?”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “I got another job, Clarke. I’m not you”.

Clarke shrugged. “So you have no _moral conscience_?”

At that, Lexa laughed. “You have spent so much time with shrinks”.

The blonde smirked and scooted to the side so she could turn her head and look at her more clearly. “Are you impulsive?”

“No”.

“Aggressive?”

“Sometimes”.

“History of criminal behavior?”

“Not before losing that job”.

“Childhood problems?”

“I was in the system most of my life, before my sister’s parents took me in. Three fucked up families before that. My childhood was… fine? I didn’t really care about anything back then”.

“You close with your sister?”

“Not since getting this job”.

“Why not?”

Lexa smirked. “She is a cop”.

“Oh”, Clarke laughed. “That is bad”.

Lexa chuckled. “She’d flip her shit”.

“You think she is looking for you out there?”

“Nah, my kills are most likely turned into cold cases”.

“Never say never, Lexa”.

Lexa smiled, uncrossing her long legs and standing with the rifle in her hand, getting to the soon-to-be window. The hotel in front of them was lighted up like a Christmas three despite the late hour of the day and Clarke leaned back, watching Lexa glow in the golden luminosity. For the first time in many years, she wanted a sketchpad and a pencil.

There were people walking in the sidewalks on the ground below them, a couple of cars passing by, faint music coming from somewhere down the street. Lexa’s target was in their room for a while now, peacefully sleeping the night away and Lexa was in no rush to take the shot, considering the businessman wouldn’t go anywhere. An almost heavy sigh rose from her chest and lungs and she thought of the money she would find in one of her many accounts in a few hours from now.

When she pressed the trigger and the rifle kicked back on her shoulder and the light muffled sound of the gunshot was swallowed by the night and the noise and sounds and the man died in his sleep with a bullet to the side of his head on his pillows, Lexa let the sigh out, her body tranquilly easing.

Clarke was already on her feet and patiently waiting for her to put away her rifle.

* * *

“You do not care that I kill people”, Clarke stated as she lowered on the floor next to the bed, where Lexa cleaned a knife. She made sure not to touch the sheets, mindful of the blood covering her clothes and hands.

Lexa shrugged, not looking up. “I think it is pointless but I find many things pointless. You do you I guess. I don’t care”.

Clarke hummed before standing and walking to the bathroom.

* * *

The sun was casting its warm rays of light in the kitchen and Clarke blinked heavily to get the sleep out of her eyes, hating the way the knocks on the door echoed through the apartment. She grunted in her pillow, tightly closing her eyes, her mind painfully counting the urgent knocks. It was an aimless wish for the mattress to open and take her in its softness…

Standing on shaky legs, Clarke patted across the room, grabbing a knife as she went.

The young man on the other side jerked violently when the door burst open.

“Who in the fucking hell are you?”

“Clarke?!” His loud voice was wobbly and surprised and the cheesy smile was vague familiar. “Oh my God, look at you!”

She gritted her teeth and it was too early for this. “Who are you?”

“Oh, come on, I’m your old buddy, Finn? Finn Collins?”

 _Buddy_ , Clarke repeated the word in her head with distress. Clarke looked at him with hooded eyes and parted dry lips. As soon as she remembered the younger version of the man standing in front of her, Clarke felt her thoughts start to scream.

Her dizzy head dropped on the uneven wood of the old door. “What do you want?”

“I remembered you moving in New York a few years ago and well, I moved in the city as well a couple of _months_ ago so I looked for you! My fucking girl, you’re so hard to find! How have you been?”

He had a sly smile on his face and his body was trembling and was covered in heavy cologne. Leather jacket, electric red shirt with the Nike symbol on the front, ripped jeans and shiny shoes. Everything about Finn was loud and Clarke didn’t want him in her house.

“How did you find me, Finn?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. “I, well, some guys I know have heard of Atom and I wanted an apartment and well, Atom asked where I am from and you know I told him and he mentioned you! What a perfect consequence, am I right?”

“Perfect, yeah”.

“Considering I don’t really have cash for now to get an apartment and all, I was kind of thinking if my old friend, Clarke fucking Griffin, cared to house me for a couple of days!”

Clarke stared and stared and stared and wondered if she was still asleep.

“No”.

His face, his fake smile, his exaggerated look in his eyes, it all collapsed with the tiny simple answer falling from her tongue. Clarke met his eyes and didn’t feel anything at the way his jaw clenched tightly.

“The police are looking for you”, Clarke added and watched him gulp, watched worry and fear cloud his eyes and she gritted her teeth, not wanting to deal with him. “Two or three weeks ago, some detective came by and listen, Finn, I don’t want detectives and cops asking shit or even thinking about my life”.

He was getting nervous. “Clarke, come on, dude, princess, I just need a place to crash for a few days. Then I will be on my way. No problems with the cops, I promise you”.

“No”.

He was getting frustrated –desperate. “I will do anything, dude, I will pay you if you let me just… Clarke, come on, I am begging here. We used to be friends”

“Go away, Finn”.

He was getting angry now, body vibrating and shaking and hands turning into fists. It made the muscles in her body tense up and lock together, and she gripped her knife.

“I will not repeat myself, Collins”.

“Jesus Christ, Clarke, I was hoping those years would have done some good to you but fucking hell, you are the same stuck up bitch you used to be”.

She rolled her eyes, frustrated. Finn’s eyes had darkened and Clarke was finding it a lot harder to keep her mind centered in the boiling anger coming up to her throat. A warning bell was ringing in her head but she could not focus on it. Finn was moving toward her now, making her jaw clench.

“Finn, I am seriously warning you now”.

His face twisted into something dangerous.

“Come on, princess, step to the side”.

She brought the hunting knife into his line of sight and he hesitated and Clarke was in the verge of pushing forward and stabbing it through his stomach. Every brick of self-control she had built in the years was rapidly crumbling inside her head. He had to walk away in _this_ very instant.

Her tongue felt too heavy in her mouth and her voice was slurred, her mind spinning wildly with urges she barely cared to keep in check. The trouble of having to get rid of a body wasn’t feeling like a big deal now. “Leave”.

He cursed and growled and grunted and Clarke motionlessly watched him leave.

Half an hour later, Lexa found her in the exact same spot, staring at the empty space in front of her with her hunting knife in a very tight hold.

* * *

“You can’t walk around dripping in blood like this; someone is bound to see you. You have a gorgeously working gun, stop using the knife”.

“Stop keeping the cops on their toes and I will”.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Clarke”.

“Your job is causing me problems, Lexa”.

“Well, excuse me for ruining your pastime murder-y activities”.

“Fuck you. You know it is more than that”.

“Do I though?”

“You’re such an asshole sometimes”.

“It is part of my charm. Ah, here”.

“Aw, Lexa, a silencer? For me? You shouldn’t have…”

“Just take the bloody silencer, Clarke”.

* * *

The knock on the door came as Clarke was opening her takeout box and listening to Lexa move around in the bathroom. At the sound of the knuckles thudding on the old wood, the blonde woman frowned deeply, cursing under her breath as a shiver of welcome frustration filled her being.

In the past thirty years, those were the most times people knocked on her door. Four times in a month and three of those times were completely unwelcome.

A blonde tall woman with a sharp jawline stood on the other side of the door. Clarke narrowed her eyes; trying to remember from where she knew the woman’s face, but it was her voice that made the memory click.

“Miss Griffin, hello, I apologize for disturbing you again”.

“Detective Woods”, Clarke mumbled out the name and she hoped it was right.

The woman nodded and Clarke relaxed lightly. “I’m afraid I’m here again for your old friend, Finn Collins. We spoke to your apartment owner but he directed us to you”.

“Yeah, he came by a few days ago”.

“He did? May I come inside and ask you some questions?”

“Here is fine”, she replied in instinct. She was a troubled kid when she was young; a lot of cops paid their parents a visit every now and then. The answer came as second nature by now. “He wanted a place to crash for the night. I told him no”.

“Miss Griffin, Finn Collins is wanted for drug dealing. Any idea where we might find him?” the detective looked stressed as she talked; frowned eyebrows and darkened brown eyes and anger pulling at the muscles of her face.

“I don’t do drugs”.

“That’s not what I meant–“

A thudding sound from somewhere deeper in the apartment made both women still and Clarke frowned. She leaned her head back to find Lexa stopping short in her way out of the bathroom, a plastic cup laying on her bare feet. The green eyes stared at Clarke with a dangerous storm raging in them and the blonde frowned back at her in confusion. One of her hands was holding her gun and her jawline was tightening with each passing second.

“Ask Atom again”, Clarke tried to say but her tongue confused itself. Only a slurred noise came out of her and the detective shifted – brown eyes snapping behind her shoulder to look inside the small apartment. “Finn said something about some guys directing him to Atom. He is looking for an apartment or something”.

Detective Woods looked at Clarke for a second longer before clenching her jaw and slowly nodding. “Of course”, she said, “I will stop by again. Thank you for your help, miss Griffin. For anything new, please, contact the precinct”.

When Clarke closed the door behind the detective, Lexa had her gun trained on her. Her green eyes were cold and frozen on her and her jawline was clenched impossibly tight, her hand unmoving in the air and the finger already on the trigger. The silencer wasn’t on but Lexa didn’t seem to care at all.

Clarke sighed, pulling a hand up to her face, tapping her forehead with her fingers to make her mind stop spinning for a second. “What?”

“What was she doing here?”

“You heard”.

“Don’t fuck with me, Clarke”.

Clarke lifted her clouded eyes on the assassin at the sound of the burning aggression in her voice. With an urge to reach in the back of her pants to take out her own gun, Clarke stilled quietly on her stop, knowing that if a move was made, Lexa would pull this trigger without any hesitation.

“They are looking for a guy I used to know. Put the fucking gun down”.

Lexa took a dangerous step forward and pointed the gun to her head. Her green eyes held a threat in them, her body was vibrating with uncontrollable anger.

“Lexa”, Clarke spat out her name and watched the woman snarl, muscles tightening.

“You gave me up to the damned cops”, the assassin took another step closer. Clarke barely kept herself from launching forward and hitting her.

“You know I wouldn’t fucking do that”.

“Do I, Clarke?”

“Bloody hell, Lexa, what is wrong with you?”

“My damn sister shows up in your doorstep and I am standing right there and you expect me to believe whatever shit is coming out of your mouth?”

Clarke felt her eyebrows snapping up and her mind span dangerously fast, almost knocking her off balance. She stared at Lexa with a parted mouth and she felt her thoughts crush together, limps numbing by the pressure slipping down her whole body.

“That was your sister”, she heard her voice saying and something flickered in Lexa’s hard gaze. “I am killing people every two nights, Lexa, what the fuck? I wouldn’t go to the damn cops for anything”.

Lexa let out a choked threatening laugh, eyes flashing. “What do I know, Clarke? You are not a sane person! What did they offer you?”

“Seriously?”

“What did they offer you, Clarke?”

She wanted to wrap her hands around Lexa’s elegant neck and squeeze until her green eyes emptied. “Oh, fuck you! Get out of my sight!”

“I am not going to repeat myself, Clarke”.

“Good because if you fucking do I will…”

The punch caught her on her jaw and Clarke stumbled back as drilling pain knocked over head and right up to her teeth, to her brain. Sharp agony snapped in her mouth, metallic blood filling her taste buds. Clarke spat it out but she did not get rid of the heavy taste.

Lexa was in front of her, a hand curling around the front of her sweater, her scent wrapping around Clarke’s already dazed head. In a way, Clarke found her back being pushed up against the wooden door and she grunted at the thudded pain whipping up her spine.

The assassin’s voice was lowered and hoarse and so very smoothly threatening. Her eyes were clouded and cold and unfocused in their anger. “How dare you threaten me? Do you know who I am?”

Clarke let the words wrap around her and she slacked against the door as the world span and span and span around her – inside her. She couldn’t think or feel properly, every sense but taste having escaped her. Wanting to lean to the side and spit some more blood out of her mouth, Clarke let her head fall back on the wood, closing her aching eyes.

Her hands snapped forward and took a tight hold of the woman’s hips and clothes.

Lexa’s heavy breathing cracked, her own hand around Clarke’s sweater tightening a bit more and – suddenly – they were so very close the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

Clarke’s mind slowed down as it focused on the feeling of warm skin under her palm, which had slowly slid up from Lexa’s hip to her side. Lexa huffed out a broken breath at the sudden touch, her hand letting go of the gun it was still gripping.

Neither women paid attention as it clunked on the floor.

The way Lexa’s free hand came up to Clarke’s body was far more interesting.

The blonde woman leaned forward and Lexa stayed frozen on her same spot. Biting teeth took a hold of her lower pulp lip, tagging gently and the assassin heavily closed her eyes at the sensation.

“Hit me again and I will tear you apart”, Clarke whispered against Lexa’s mouth and her voice was rough and serious and Lexa believed her. “Don’t forget who the fuck I am, Lexa”.

The assassin excessively shuddered at the words.

“Killing may be a job to you, commander”, Clarke continued.

She very carefully licked her way up to Lexa’s ear, feeling the violent shivers crushing right through the woman’s muscles. The assassin whimpered at the vibrating sound of her title fall from Clarke’s tongue and Clarke pulled her hand up to her ribs, feeling the wild flattering of her heart.

“But do not forget it is my fucking life. If you are the commander, then I am the commander of death”.

Lexa had to close her eyes as boiling heat burst right through her body to pool right between her legs, the sensation almost knocking her off of balance for the first time in her much grounded life. For a moment she had to hold onto Clarke to keep steady and the irony wasn’t lost to neither of them. They were both breathing heavier than normal and Clarke for the first time in her life felt so very composed and in control of her own body and mind.

It was beautiful; the way they both surrendered themselves to own another.

“I will kiss you now”, Clarke whispered against Lexa’s mouth.

Lexa nodded. “Please, do, Clarke”.

And Clarke did.

* * *

Lexa caressed the bruise forming on the side of Clarke’s jaw and the blonde woman closed her eyes, leaning her head to the side to give more access to the tender skin, soaking in the gentle touching and sensations.

“I don’t care about your sociopathy tendencies, Lexa, hit me like this again and I will end you”, Clarke mumbled, her throat scratchy and her voice still heavy and hoarse.

“I don’t expect anything else”.

Lexa smiled to herself, shifting closer but flinching as the wounds on her back pulled at her skin with a chewing sting of pain. The sensation had sweetness in it but Lexa’s mind still dreaded to see in the mirror the damage Clarke’s nails had done. Figuring she wouldn’t be sleeping on her back for a while, she lowered on her front, blissfully feeling the coolness of Clarke’s sheets against her skin.

Turning her head, Clarke watched Lexa’s long eyelashes resting on her cheek as the assassin’s body slacked on the mattress. A smirk pulled at the side of her mouth as she realized Lexa looked like a cat in this moment – content, quiet, close to purring.

Burying a hand in wild brunette locks had both of them heavily sighing.

“Your back is a mess. You could tell me to stop”.

“I remember liking it”, Lexa mumbled in the pillow.

Clarke smiled and shifted closer and let her hand travelled down the scratch marks she had left behind. Lexa shuddered under the light tough, muscles tightening every time the fingertips touched the tender vertical long marks. The blonde had an urge to bite down on the unmarked parts of the skin but she held back, not knowing if it’d turn on Lexa again, not knowing if she could take another round.

 _Later_ , she thought, opting to gently lay her front on the woman’s bare back, hearing Lexa’s breathing catch painfully in her chest, a gentle grunt echoing in the quiet dark apartment. Clarke tried to sooth the stinging pain by kissing under the woman’s tiny ear.

“Do you have a job tonight?” Clarke asked against her tanned skin, not able to stop her mouth from closing around Lexa’s earlobe and sucking. The other woman shifted against her, sighing in the pillow, green eyes still closed.

“No, I’m all yours”.

 _God,_ Clarke couldn’t help herself. There was a fire licking up the way inside her and she wanted everything this woman was willing to give her. Her hands caressed the warm skin, the wild silk locks of hair and the scars mapping out the body underneath her. She felt steady, she felt grounded, collected, in control. This was so much more than watching the life slip from someone’s eyes; this was watching life burst up in a body as put together as Lexa’s own.

Sex never came easy to Clarke. She didn’t have patience; she didn’t have the gentle manner many of her previous lovers had wanted. There was an urge in her body to tear and pull and push and watch with awestruck attention every single twist her rough hands would cause to the body underneath her. Many times Clarke had been stopped or slowed down or pulled closer and they all left her mind spinning again. It rarely pleased her anymore.

With Lexa… Lexa didn’t pause or slow down or try to be gentle. Oh, Lexa was none of these things – she was a force and confidence and empty green eyes taking in every moment like it was holy. She would bite down and push and grip and forcibly pull at skin and hands and legs and it was everything Clarke was and wanted. And in return, Lexa took everything Clarke laid on her, moaned and grunted and always told her to keep going – never stop – never slow down – but if she… asked… if she _asked_ Clarke was damn sure she’d do anything this woman might ask.

“I want you to cum again”, she whispered and Lexa whimpered pitifully.

“Jesus, Clarke, I can’t move anymore”, she whispered back but her hips were already shifting. The blonde let her mouth bite down on Lexa’s shoulder and a hand grabbed at her hair – softly pulling at them to urge Lexa on.

“I can stop”, Clarke let her know but Lexa shook her head, turning so her forehead was resting on the pillow. Her muscles were already twisting, hips ducking up again.

“Don’t stop”, Lexa breathed out and Clarke closed her eyes and she tightened her hold on the wild brunette hair, nails carefully scratching at the woman’s skull. The moan drifting out of the assassin had Clarke’s legs pressing together, pressure and heat gathering on her core.

Right there, Clarke decided that sliding a hand underneath Lexa and slowly cupping her pussy was one of her favorite things to do for the rest of her lifetime. The other woman was already wet and Clarke mindlessly licked her lips at the sensation of her on her fingers, remembering her taste and the moans Lexa cried out when Clarke’s tongue was on her.

Ducking her hips back against her, Lexa grunted out a sound which could be words, which could be a broken moan. Clarke hummed at the sound of it, slowly letting her fingers move on the woman’s clit, feeling Lexa’s body twist in pleasure.

“Go faster”, Lexa breathed out in a steel order and Clarke obeyed without a second thought, nibbling at the skin she could reach, her hand pulling at the brunette locks, hard enough to hurt. Lexa moaned in the pillow, her hips ducking violently back on Clarke and the blonde thought of grinding against the woman’s firm ass to get some pressure as well.

Lexa’s next words made her pause. “Your mouth”, she breathed out and jumped as the fingers flattered against her clit. “Clarke, I want your mouth”.

“As you wish, commander”, Clarke whispered in her ear, feeling Lexa shudder.

She didn’t bother flipping Lexa on her back. Kissing her way down, Clarke could not help but palm the assassin’s backside, gently spreading her open for her tongue. The first lick had Lexa arching her back and Clarke smirked as long fingers reached back and took a hold on her head. Tapping at Lexa’s left thigh, she guided the long leg up and away, so she had more room to please her lover.

Clarke licked at Lexa’s entrance and the whole world quieted down and centered at the sound of the broken moan falling from her woman’s chest. They’d lost count of how many times they’d finished in that afternoon and Clarke knew Lexa was already close by now.

She was right; it only took a shift movement of her tongue inside Lexa’s entrance and the assassin’s body tensed up impossibly hard, a layer of sweat breaking out across her skin as her muscles spammed. Clarke chuckled against her as her tongue moved to gather the wetness of Lexa’s weak orgasm.

When the brunette slacked on the mattress again, Clarke kneeled back between her legs and let a hand find Lexa’s ass cheek, firmly massaging the muscle. She allowed her eyes to take in the sight in front of her and her mind peacefully settled, taking in the details, the wonder of this woman in front of her.

For once in her life, her thoughts didn’t spin out of control.

* * *

“Move in with me”.

“No”.

“Why? I already kind of live in your apartment. We can get a bigger place”.

“I don’t have money for another place”.

“I do”.

“Cute”.

“Clarke…”

“I don’t do normal, Lexa”.

She laughed. “And I do?”

Clarke looked at her. Lexa smirked with her stupid overconfidence.

“I hope you are not expecting things from me”.

“I enjoy your company but if you wake up one morning and want to pack up and leave, I won’t stop you”.

“I better not find blood on our couch, Lexa. I will skin you alive”.

The assassin rolled her eyes.

“I mean it. No passing out on it with blooded clothes or damned injuries”.

“Deal. Is that a yes?”

“It is. Let’s go apartment hunting, it sounds fun”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me.
> 
> Would I step into a church and catch fire? I feel like I would. Leave a comment this is the dirtiest I have ever been in this site.


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